


You Got A Friend In Me

by lilsmartass



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, implications of violence/torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve sees himself as a stick-in-the-mud. It's not that Steve thinks the rest of them dislike him, exactly - he's just not sure that at the end of the day, when all's said and done, that they really see him as a friend as well as a leader. So when they're all captured by baddy of the week, Steve never thinks there'd really be any question of who should take the brunt of whatever the villain metes out. Quite apart from whatever his teammates feel about him in terms of friendship/personal worth, he's their leader, who made the calls that landed them in such a bad position. Also, he knows he can take it. So Steve's the first to step out and say, "Take me." And he's totally blown away when his fellow Avengers promptly go nuts to distract the villain from hurting him. Because, obviously, Steve's a derp to think they don't care</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got A Friend In Me

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: For this prompt at the kinkmeme: Steve sees himself as a stick-in-the-mud far more than any of the rest of the Avengers do, even Tony, for all his teasing. It's not that Steve thinks the rest of them dislike him, exactly - he's just not sure that at the end of the day, when all's said and done, that they really see him as a friend as well as a leader. After all, he's the guy who makes the sometimes unpopular command decisions, and generally tows the line when the rest of them want to go off half-cocked. So when they're all captured by baddy of the week, Steve never thinks there'd really be any question of who should take the brunt of whatever the villain metes out (maybe villain wants information about mission X the Avengers are involved in...or is simply out for revenge, or...whatever idea strikes your fancy). Quite apart from whatever his teammates feel about him in terms of friendship/personal worth, he's their leader, who made the calls that landed them in such a bad position. Also, he knows he can take it. So Steve's the first to step out and say, "Take me." And he's totally blown away when his fellow Avengers promptly go nuts to distract the villain from hurting him. Because, obviously, Steve's a derp to think they don't care - and they tell him so, at the first opportunity. Steve!whump, however serious or light, is wonderful, though no non-con, please. Happy endings with H/C are the best!.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Threats mostly. There are two instances of extremely mild torture towards the end and the possibility of what, depending on your mileage, could be dub-con WHICH DOES NOT HAPPEN. Possible Clintasha depending on your goggles.  
> Genre: drama, hurt/comfort, humour

** You’ve Got A Friend In Me **

Steve is good at what he does. With no false modesty, and no undue Stark-esque bragging, he’s good at being Captain America, good at being the leader of the Avengers. He always knew Erskine had seen the thing in him that he had never thought anyone else would see, not even Bucky or Peggy really, both of whom had to protect him far more often than he is really comfortable with. Seen that he is a good person. Or at least, that he tries to be. That he is fair and brave and honourable, like the fairy tale heroes that, with his asthma he could never hope to match, but who he wanted to be like anyway (yes he was a fairy tale reading sissy as well as an asthmatic puny nothing, there were reasons he got beaten up). He has always tried to learn from his mistakes. So, it is with a quiet certain confidence that Steve knows that he is good at his job. What he is not good at is the crazy drunken parties Stark likes to throw.

For a start, he can’t get drunk. And, he remembers from back when he _could_ get drunk, that drunken people find themselves funny and _know_ that they are making significant contributions to whatever they’re discussing. One drunk to another can solve all the problems in the world. As the only sober one, standing amongst his increasingly inebriated teammates, and the many, many guests Stark always seems to invite to these affairs, he realises how truly ridiculous it all is. OK, Stark and Banner never really make sense when they’re talking science at the best of times, but right now they aren’t really saying words, just slurring noises at each other and nodding emphatically. And he knows it’s old fashioned, but he can’t help feeling slightly distasteful of the way Miss- no, Agent Romanov, is reeling like a drunken sailor. He simply can even imagine Peggy doing the same. And he knows they’ve been friends for any number of years, but he still finds it slightly inappropriate that it will be Barton who takes her home and undresses her and most likely sleeps in the same bed. That’s if it doesn’t end in an orgy. And really Stark? Ok yes, he missed seventy years, but does a party really have to end in an orgy to be considered fun nowadays?

Another thing he isn’t good at is overlooking is the cavalier attitude Stark seems to have to Banner’s Hulk shaped problem. He doesn’t think Banner should be locked away and experimented on by any means, but the man has _an uncontrollable rage monster_ existing just under his skin, and he just doesn’t think it’s completely unreasonable to think that he should be treated with the kind of respect and care that such a condition warrants. He’s the only one though because Barton has gotten in on the randomly electrocuting Banner with low voltage prods at random times and Steve caught Agent Romanov in the kitchen the other day methodically filling all of Banner’s teabags with coffee grounds, which is a pretty ingenious prank but, given the tantrum Banner had the last time they ran out of tea, deliberately sabotaging it, deliberately sabotaging it by giving Banner a caffeine related stimulant, doesn’t seem sensible. It’s not like he’s against fun, but surely it’s not so much to ask that Banner isn’t encouraged to Hulk out in the kitchen?

He suspects that behind his back they refer to him as the group mother. And not in the fun, affectionate way with which they refer to Miss Potts by the same nickname. He’s one of those chronically unfun, unfair, unfriendly mothers that want to keep his children attached to his apron strings forever. Which is not strictly true, or fair, but none of them seem to realise the truly catastrophic consequences that could come of some of the things that they enjoy, so he’s sort of _forced_ to realise it for them. Prime example, magical a place as Asgard seems to be, surely it’s not healthy for Thor to exist solely on poptarts and various other dessert substances that Stark and Barton keep plying him with. Though, he is the first to admit that he could have dealt with that more tactfully than taking away the huge wedge of chocolate cake Thor had just seated himself in front of and giving him a somewhat embellished lecture on the terrifying consequences of failing to eat correctly. And he probably shouldn’t have smirked so manically when an unusually cowed Thor had taken an apple and eaten it under Steve’s watchful eye. But, in his defence, the four of them had been having a nerf war up and down the corridor all day and it wasn’t the volume with which they were screaming at one another which bothered him, it was the fact that he hadn’t been asked to join in, once again the little boy who no one would pick to be on their team, but this time without Bucky claim an early twisted ankle and to keep him company on the sideline.

He probably shouldn’t have told them to stop in case they broke some priceless artefact though. The ornaments and paintings are, after all, Stark’s, and he is welcome to destroy them as he saw fit. Even if the way he went through money like water did horrify Steve just a little. He should also probably make an effort to call them by their first names, but he just doesn’t spend much quality time with them. They fight together, and train together and debrief together, and Steve lives in the tower, so inevitably he sometimes does run into one or other of them in the kitchen or whatever. He’s watched a few movies with them, but other than to put his head around the door and make sure they’re all present and accounted for and alive and have eaten something more substantial than popcorn, he doesn’t really attend the quasi-regular movie nights.

In some ways, it’s not his fault. Barton and Agent Romanov have known one another for years. They were close long before they were Avengers, they are used to relying on one another in the thick of battle and equally to enjoying their downtime together, secure that the other understands the nervous twitches and oddities that appear threatening to uninitiated outsiders. And understanding of oddities is sort of the key to Stark and Banner’s relationship. Stark has made obnoxious eccentricity an art form, a mask worn for so long he really has no idea how to take it off but Banner practices tolerance in an extreme way and both of them are accustomed to being so far ahead of every other person they ever talk to that they consider most conversation a boring inconvenience, being able to talk to a friend about their work makes them both as giddy as children. There was never any chance that they wouldn’t bond. And Steve’s never been good at making friends in way Thor is, where he’s just impossible to dislike. He was straight laced and boring in the forties, now, in this modern shiny, instant gratification world where he lives in a house where his every need can be instantly taken care of by the taking voice of an intelligent super computer, he is almost a parody of the virtues he holds so dear.

So yes, Steve is good at his job, at his role. But he’s not one of them, not really. He knows their strengths and their weaknesses because he is their Captain and has their files memorised. He knows that both Barton and Agent Romanov have been trained to withstand torture. He knows Thor is more durable even than him. He knows that Stark hadn’t broken despite the ordeal he had undergone at the hands’ of the Ten Rings. He knows that, bizarrely, he is the only one untested in that situation and he has no idea how well he might stand up to such treatment. However, it does not change that they are all caught, incapacitated, depowered and caged because of his orders, his decisions, his failure to realise that it was all nothing but an elaborate trap.

Perhaps the only saving grace is that this whole thing is personal. They want to hurt the Avengers specifically. It is some comfort at least to know that the city isn’t being torn down brick by brick while they are helpless, some comfort to know innocents aren’t dying because he had failed to realise what any rookie would have done. It’s his fault they are here, and he is uniquely suited to withstand this because he alone of all of them will not elicit emotional sympathy from the others. Whatever they do to him, whether he screams and cries and begs or not (don’t let him, please don’t let him, please let him be strong enough to withstand, be as strong as Bucky had been) the others will not be tormented by his suffering. Not anymore than they would be by seeing any random person hurt anyway. And furthermore, it is his right, his duty, to do what is necessary to safeguard his team. He’s the Captain, he’s in charge, he led them to this, and it’s his responsibility to make amends.

All of these factors lead to a simple, single, conclusion. He steps forward to meet their captor from as equal a footing as he can manage from behind bars. “Take me,” he says, or starts to say, blue gaze fixed resolutely on the hooded figure and not on the table of instruments behind him.

Instantly, Stark is at his side, dragging him back with a harsh, painful movement. Steve rocks slightly off balance, unused to not having his enhanced strength to compensate for the still-new weight of his enhanced body. It is all too easy for Stark to force him back and Barton to push him back still further. The pair stand, shoulder to shoulder, buttressing one another, Stark has blood trickling sluggishly into one eye and Barton is standing painfully from where he’d managed to shoot himself in the thigh with one of his own arrows when their powers and knowledge had been stripped from them. “You want him, you go through us first,” Barton growls.

Steve is nonplussed quite frankly. Tony is not the arrogant ass he had thought he was once, Steve knows this. He’s seen the hours the man puts in designing new and better equipment for all of them, and for SHIELD at large, the way he’s opened his tower and bank accounts to them all, the way he is never too tired after a battle to talk to Banner and make sure he’s alright and relaxed during what Stark likes to jokingly call his Hulkover. But now is not the time for Stark to decide to become a team player, and surely Barton understands the necessary tactic he is employing here, knows that even without his enhanced strength, his body is still uniquely capable to withstand the necessary stress and that he is the only one who will not compromise the others. “Hawkeye, Iron Man...Stand down. It’s fine.”

“That’s bullshit Cap, and you know it.”

“He’s right. This psycho doesn’t get to touch any of us and you certainly don’t get to sacrifice yourself.”

“It’s fine,” Steve repeats again and steps forward once more. Instantly, Stark’s hands are back on his shoulders, pushing him back once again. Frustrated, Steve struggles against him, but even without his armour, Stark is strong. He works out, he does his own blacksmithing and heavy lifting, he is strong enough to stand in his heavy armour and Steve is no longer strong enough to force him out of the way without damaging one of them in the struggle that would ensue. “Let me go, let me through.” He’s never been so close to hitting Stark in his life and for once indulging the impulse is probably safe, he’s incapable of doing any real damage like this.

Before he can however, he feels a small but deceptively strong hand twist in the back of his suit and pull him back. He catches Agent Romanov as the tug sends her off balance and she almost falls. She flushes, mumbles thanks but meets his eyes properly to say, “He’s right Steve. We’re not about to sacrifice you.”

Inwardly, Steve sighs. He sees what is happening here. To a point he even understands, no matter how frustrating it is. Their duty to him and to their mission, their respect for him as a leader...of course they don’t want to see this happen to him. He does them a disservice by assuming they wouldn’t care. They are Avengers for a reason. It does not change the fact that it is better him than any of the others. Nonetheless, for their benefit, he forces his voice into a calm, soothing, commanding register, like he would use to calm ad command a spooked horse. “I made the mistake. I led us here. He wants one of us, it may as well be me instead of you all having to watch a friend suffer.”

There is silence for a long second and their adversary smirks coldly. “Well said Captain. And don’t think I’m not enjoying your desperation to take your place under my knives, but unless you want _me_ to start deciding which one of you I want to hear scream, you’ll come here.”

Out of choices, out of options, Steve steps forward once again, only to find Stark’s immovable hands on his shoulders, pushing him back for the third time. He turns a scowl on the shorter man, but Stark doesn’t waver. “No,” he says, calm and firm and immovable as his grip.

Steve is ready to fight, to force his way past, when Barton very deliberately places himself in the way, preventing himself from getting any real leverage to swing at Stark. Even in his current state, Steve can probably take Barton with the other in his current condition, but he really doesn’t have the heart to hit an already hurt team member. Instead, he allows himself to go lax in Stark’s grip, forcing the billionaire to let go of him and shoulder rolls past...only to crash into the solid bulk that is Thor. The god can’t raise Mjolnir at the moment, but he’s still a solid wall of muscle, far stronger than Steve and right now he’s just glaring down at Steve with disappointed anger writ large across his face. “Iron Man speaks for all of us,” he says calmly.

“Look,” Steve appeals to the cell at large, “One of us has to, and I’m willing. There’s no point in any of you suffering out of...of...duty or whatever.”

“Duty?” says Banner, in such a dangerous voice that Steve flinches on instinct before remembering that the Hulk isn’t an option right now.

“He’s right,” Stark smirks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Banner in case Steve hasn’t worked out who _he_ is. “We’d pretty much have died or killed each other by now without you.”

Steve is about to respond that they’ve all saved each other, that no one is responsible for the lives of others more than others, that they may not be all equally adept in every battle but that they have unique skills which make them unmatched in certain fields. How often has Barton shot down an enemy before it even had time to pose a danger to one of the others? Or Thor moved obstacles which would have caused no end of difficulties to them as they were hemmed in by foes? But he doesn’t have time. Having grown tired of the circular debate, their captor has motioned for several of his men to come forward and enter the cage.

Squaring off against Thor, Steve is still in an advantageous position to sidestep neatly into their path. Without different instructions, the men – petty street criminals, no real threat, his mind automatically notes but he doesn’t struggle – are able to grab him easily. He’s working with them, willing, more than willing, to go where they want to take him, but they seem to take delight in manhandling him anyway. Their fingers bite viciously into his flesh.

“Steve!” Stark says in an anguished voice, stepping forward, but Agent Romanov has surged forward too and without her usual preternatural grace, she is nothing more than a hindrance and Stark stumbles as he collides with her, crashing into Barton and wrenching a shocked exclamation of pain from the archer’s mouth.

The sound stops Steve in his tracks and he twists his body in the grip of the men dragging him to see Barton. They don’t stop, keep dragging him forward and he is bashed hard into the edge one of the walls. The impact forces a sound from him too; half exclamation of his own agony, half sympathy for Barton.

Thor slams his whole weight against the bars, rattling the metal. “Release him!” he demands.

Their captor merely chuckles, gesturing fluidly for his men to release Steve’s arms. “Of course. You may leave if you wish Captain. I only need one of you for our purposes.”

Steve’s eyes flick over their captor, and the wall of hired muscle at his back. On any given day he would fight through this crowd in moments before releasing his friend, but today...today he is no stronger than an average tall, muscular man, today he can take two, maybe three or four, but he will be overpowered and his friends will suffer for the attempt.

“Go,” Banner urges in a hoarse, pained voice, fear stark in his eyes. But of course, Steve thinks, he has been trapped and held helpless by drugs before while he was hurt while the Army experimented on him. It’s the same fear, spawned by his time in Afghanistan that he can see in Stark’s eyes.

Without comment, he presses his lips tightly together and walks over to the chair placed ready beside the table. For the first time, Steve casts his eyes over the rows of neatly laid out tools, some are equipment which looks medical in nature, others are hardware, he has no doubt they will all be used to cause pain and he doubts his super healing is operating, none of his other serum enhanced qualities are. He can’t repress the way he swallows nervously.

“Cuff yourself,” orders the soft, amused voice.

Steve looks down. The arms and legs of the chair are obligingly fitted with sturdy looking restraints. Everything in him balks at the idea of leaving himself helpless and open and his eyes dart back again to the tray of knives. He closes his eyes against the satisfied gleam in their captor’s when he forced back his own instinct and leant forward to close the restraints around his own legs.

“No,” Stark shouts, slamming his hand down hard against the bars, “leave him alone you bastard.”

“Why Stark? Going to offer yourself in his place?”

“Will that help?” Stark’s voice is wary, “If all you want is one of us to take his place I can do that.”

Banner hushes him with smack to the side. “That will just put the rest of us in the same situation with you, you moron.”

Stark accepts that with a quick quirk of his lips. Very few enemies are willing to play musical Avengers in that way no matter how amusing they might find it to hear them begging for the safety of another. It hasn’t worked as a distraction technique in months, and this time it won’t even be that. No one knows where they are. “I can- ” he offers instead before breaking himself off with another twist to his mouth.

“What Stark? Build me something?”

The pain and fury in those dark eyes is for himself now, Steve pauses, hand still clutched around the wrist strap he had been in the process of tightening. He knows Stark prides himself on his technical genius, knows that having it stripped from him to the point of crashing his suit because he had forgotten how to operate the flight systems has unsettled him greatly. Nothing, as Steve knows all too well keeps Stark quiet for long though, “I’m still a billionaire. He’s worth a fortune if you keep him in mint condition.”

He’s trying to joke, but if anything it just deepens the malice in their adversary’s eyes. He moves close to Steve for the first time and fixes is second wrist down by the only unused strap. His skin is cold and clammy, as distasteful as the man himself. He picks up a serrated knife and toys idly with it, eyes never wavering from the five avid faces watching him from the other side of the room. Steve looks over his shoulder at the far wall and tries to think about something else. “You’re telling me you won’t pay even more to get him out of my clutches once he starts screaming?” He ghosts a soft touch over Steve’s jaw with his knife free hand, but Steve still can’t help the reflexive twitch.

Banner looks almost feral, his face twisted in the kind of fury which makes his always placid face look as unnatural as a Halloween rubber mask. “Immunity,” he gasps out.

That stills the knife, scratching patterns over Steve’s chest in painful scrapes but so far not breaking flesh, merely rending fabric, “I’m sorry?”

“At some point the Other Guy will get out. He always does. No one has ever been able to hold him down forever. I’ll point him at something other than you. You get immunity.”

Steve isn’t even sure that that’s possible and he already knows that he’s not going to go for it. The knife is resting just under his collar bone, slowly pushing in by excruciating increments which don’t so much as hesitate. “I don’t think so,” he says and pushes the knife abruptly home, puncturing Steve’s shoulder. Steve swallows the scream, he won’t give this bastard the satisfaction _he won’t_ and makes an undignified choking noise instead as his vision whites out from the sudden flare of agony.

“Cap? Cap? C’mon Captain, say something? Tell me you’re OK?” he hears as he comes back to himself. He splutters something he hopes is an affirmative and struggles into a more upright position.

“I wouldn’t bother with him,” Agent Romanov’s cool voice says into the beat of stillness that follows. “There’s a much better show going on here.”

Steve twists in his bonds as much as he is able, craning over his shoulder. Agent Romanov seems to have solved the problem of her current absolute inability to move without falling over or getting in everyone else’s way by clinging to an ostentatiously-amused-but-blatently-using-her-to-prop-himself-up-because-that-leg-wound-has-still-to-stop-bleeding Barton.

“Oh yes?” comes the mocking prompt.

Agent Romanov doesn’t hesitate, twisting a hand in Barton’s regulation short hair as best she can before dragging him down and pressing her mouth firmly to his.

“A floor show? Really?” demands Stark in incredulous, bemused, furious amazement.

Barton smirks at him. “You can have Bruce,” he offers teasingly.

Stark flips him off but returns his attention to the outside of the cage to say, “I’d take it. It’s a damn good offer. ‘Tasha never lets me watch.”

“Stand down,” Steve barks out, or tries to with, his voice pain roughened and tense. “That’s above and beyond Agent and I don’t want you to- ”

“Will you stop sabotaging my best chance to get Barton into bed Captain,” Agent Romanov says lightly, “I’ve been trying to get myself infected with sex pollen for years so he’d have to put out and nothing. This is my next best chance.”

“Sex pollen is a myth,” Banner corrects absently, “A few friends and I tried to create some for the science fair at school one year. Nothing but a few extremely awkward and persistent erections ever came of it though. And also, ‘Tasha? How could you? I thought our love was forever!”

He hadn’t noticed the tension before, but he sees it the instant she relaxes, body slumping into Barton’s who is forced to brace himself against Thor to accept more of her weight in his current state. “Sorry Bruce, you’re just not man enough for me. I like a man who can shoot himself in the leg with a six foot long bow. That takes real skill.”

Barton pushes her lightly and they both almost fall when she clutches at him gracelessly, “Yeah and I’ve always wanted to date the only klutzy assassin in the world.”

This time it is Steve who interjects with a yelp he can’t hold back as a white hot line of pain he hadn’t expected is suddenly drawn down the back of his neck. “Children,” their captor says calmly, but belied by the hint of fury they can all hear, “If you could stop bickering for a moment.”

“I like the way you think,” Stark nods emphatically, “Who wants to listen to Hawkeye’s lame put-downs when there’s a floor show to be getting on with.”

“No,” says (gasps, _sobs_ truthfully) Steve again, but Agent Romanov is already popping the buttons at Barton’s fly, nimble fingers sliding beneath the black material. He has his head dipped to her curls and is whispering something to her. She laughs gently and nods once, arching back and gasping as he palms one of her breasts and squeezes. Face flaming, Steve shuts his eyes, noticing Stark doing the same with some surprise.

There’s a gasp of pleasure and a moan of something that Steve hopes is pleasure and not agony where Agent Romanov has accidentally kicked Barton in his wound or something. She gives a low, throaty moan of her own and says something in Russian which elicits a snort from the archer. Somewhat incongruously, it’s followed by a crash, a few snarled curse words and Stark’s voice saying “OK, I take it back, Barton’s not the lamest even if he did shoot himself. You just fell over taking your own shoe off.”

Steve’s eyes opened involuntarily. He coloured slightly at the sight of Agent Romanov, pants round her ankles, tangled around her boots and scarlet panties clearly on display, top half already unzipped. Barton was mostly still dressed, but dishevelled and panting. He was about to slam his lids shut once more when a movement caught his eyes. Doing his best not t move his head and alert anyone else, he glances upwards. His shocked gaze meets another. It’s Agent Coulson, inching slowly but expertly along one of the beams. Agent Coulson motions with one hand for quiet.

With difficulty Steve takes his eyes away from the figure and turns instead to the drama unfolding in front of him, which is significantly funnier now he knows it’s not going to end in Agent Romanov misguidedly prostituting herself for him. “Undress her faster, my patience wears thin,” the too-familiar refined voice demands.

Barton’s lips tighten but he says nothing, doesn’t even glance their way, merely cocks a head at Thor who steps up behind Agent Romanov and bodily lifts her off the ground. Barton drops to his knees in front of her to begin untying the laces. Steve feels a brief flare of jealously at the easy almost choreographed move. The others follow his orders in battle, even tolerate his reprimands in their downtime when they push him too far, but he doubts with nothing more than a tilt of the head he could explain that he wanted Agent Romanov picked up and held still so she didn’t trip again.

“I hope you know that there’s plenty of ways to give a girl a good time from down there Clint,” she teases.

“You’re not a girl. You’re a Natasha.”

“Just stay on your knees Barton.”

Steve can’t see his face, but he can imagine him wrinkling his nose from the tone of his voice. “Hey, I’m totally the alpha out of the two of us, you get on your knees.” Agent Romanov raises an eyebrow at him and he chokes on something that might be a snigger or an objection before drawling, “Yes _Mistress_.” Steve feels a blush heat his face again, even as the inexplicable jealousy roars up once more as Baton gently cups Agent Romanov’s heel in preparation to pull her boot off.

From above him there is a sound so loud it leaves him disorientated for a second. A gun, he realises distantly. Their captor falls forward, black robe billowing behind him, blood staining the floor around him as it pours from the wound in the centre of his chest. Agent Coulson drops down from the rafters and surveys the host of employed minions. “With him dead there’s no one to pay you,” he states calmly. “I have people to deal with, and I don’t really care about any of you. Would you like to take this opportunity to leave?”

There is a very tense silence, but slowly they all begin to shuffle out, looking for all the world like chastised children. Instantly the Avengers all begin talking, speaking over each other.

“Coulson! How did you find us?”

“Is Steve OK?”

“Do you know what he did to us Son of Coul?”

“I’m fine Agent, get the others.”

“Steve first Coulson, he’s bleeding.”

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you but why are you here?”

Agent Coulson holds up a hand for silence before returning to the ties fixing Steve to the chair. “I’m here because I tracked the locators in the SHIELD issue uniforms Natasha and Clint are wearing after Miss Foster called me when Thor failed to show up for their date.”

Thor beams, “I should have known my sweet Jane would not fail us.”

“Steve is fine, superficial bleeding. His metabolism will have it taken care of by tomorrow, what about the rest of you?”

“Clint shot himself with his own arrow,” Stark reports gleefully.

Agent Coulson turns a sharp on the archer. “How?”

Barton flushes, “Whatever he zapped us with somehow...stripped our powers and skills. Stark forgot how to fly the suit and crashed into a building.”

“Nope, you shooting yourself is still funnier Barton.”

“Children, what do you mean he stripped you of your powers and skills?”

“I can’t work technology at all, the Hulk is AWOL, Natasha falls over her own feet standing still and Clint _shot himself with his own arrow_ Coulson, what do you think it means?”

“Aye, and I cannot lift Mjolnir.”

“So you don’t have a healing factor,” Coulson summarises, swinging back to Steve and casting another critical eye over the injuries he’s sporting.

“I’m fine, get the others,” Steve insists wading up the remains of his undershirt and pressing it against the stab wound in his shoulder.

Coulson doesn’t look happy about it but he grabs the key from the pocket of the body on the floor and unlocks the cage. They all come tumbling out, literally in Natasha’s case. They brush past Coulson with heartfelt, but quick, looks and touches and words of thanks, hastening to Steve’s side. Banner pulls back the clump of cloth, examining the would for himself with a critical eye while Thor makes quick work of the ties still fixing his ankles to the chair that he hadn’t mustered the strength to lean over and undo for himself. Tony has set himself on his non wounded side and is carrying on an animated conversation with Coulson about their symptoms of being depowered and how best to go about fixing them. He’s hampered by his inability to recall scientific terms, but he’s supporting Steve’s weight on that side in an almost totally unnoticeable way, for which Steve is unutterably grateful because he has a couple of very minor stab wounds, he has taken worse during some of their more passionate sparring sessions and he can do without the shame of passing out in front of his team.

“You didn’t have to offer to do that,” he says, locking eyes with Barton. His eyes cut across to Agent Romanov, now, with Coulson’s help in not overbalancing, zipped back into her suit. “Either of you.”

“Don’t be stupid Cap, you’re one of us,” Barton says. It’s his usual teasing tone, but there is an indefinable something beneath the words.

Steve lifts his head sharply to look at him but the blood loss is telling on his compromised system and the motion makes him list violently. Stark puts a hand on his shoulder, supporting him in a much less innocuous way. And maybe, Steve realises, he is one of them in a deeper way than simply being their leader. Maybe he’s not as bad at making friends as he had thought. He smiles and grips Sta- Tony’s wrist. Without looking back at him, still conversing with Coulson, now with Bruce’s occasional input, Tony pulls him up to his feet but keeps supporting him, knowing that he needs to be standing right now but that he can’t do it alone. Steve’s smile widens. “Thanks Clint,” he says. “Hospital then pizza?”

“Good plan Captain.” **  
**


End file.
